Journal page 2

Kiaphus’ log

I was once told that when a sailor died he goes to a place similar to what the Kal’dorei call the “Emerald Dream.” They used to tell this tale about how wonderful this place was, though it was not exactly the Emerald Dream because it was real. They said there were flowers that were big as bears and whose nectar was like fine wine.
The first time I had heard of these stories I was at a pub down south. I was still a youth but no longer a child. I had drunk until my head swam and the vivid viridian greens of the story seemed all the more real.
“And every fruit is edible. Nothin’ is poison.” One sailor said. He claimed he had seen it once when his ship was boarded by pirates and they had shot him three times. I didn’t believe a word of it but he told a good story, all the same.
“And then there is women, too.” He said with all the heaviness and seriousness a good mead gives to a drunk.
“Loads of beautiful women of every shape, color, and creed.”
“And still! None o’ them would go near you!”
“Yeah, no matter what-- color or creed-- she is a no is still a bloody NO!”
The room exploded into braying laughter and the drunk story teller waved his hand dismissively.
“It’s true though! I’ve seen it! A wondrous land jes fer sailors. A sailors paradise.”

The room lulled and the men had gone into their own knots and clusters of conversation. I was too drunk myself to talk to no one, so I slumped over alone at my booth. My eyes barely opened and my head was dropped on the table. Just as I felt the warm embrace of sleep swim over me to carry me away on exhausted currents-- I was jolted awake by a stinging slap on my back followed my a jovial voice.

“You’re Rowenthil’s boy, aren’t ya?!”
The thundering voice painfully drummed in my head. Every inch of my being wanted only to sleep . My eyes only saw a hazy image of the room and a rotund man as if it were a heat mirage. I was weighed down by the stupor of alcohol. I could barely understand what he was asking… something about my father and…
And then he sat down at my booth across from me. I raised my head and felt the cold kiss of drool on my chin that I hadn’t previously noticed was pooling around my cheek.

“You Rowen’s kid, aren’t you? Shame what happened…”
I attempted to fix my gaze on him, though I had severe vertigo and thought that I may either fall out of my booth or vomit all over it from the effort.

“Bloody storm that was! … And it was such a beautiful boat…! What was she, 150, 160 years old? He did some good modification on it, o’ course.” The man seemed to also be drunk, but was the kind of drunk where he felt hearing his own voice was better entertainment then a good fight or just passing out. He seemed more or less oblivious to the fact that I could barely take in a word, however the more he droned on the more sober I was becoming. Eventually he had to stop and breathe, which was where I stepped in.
“Just… who’re you?”
I reckon I may have said.
“Oh! Jes an old friend of yer father’s. Blimey, I thought I introduced myself. I’m Dantola Quell’nalia. Captain of the “Rich Sea Blood.” He held out his thick dirty hand and we shook.
I remember noticing him properly then. In the dim bar light he seemed squatter and fuller then most elves. His eyes were rounder and his pointed ears shorter. I remember telling myself, “he’s half human,” and being bothered by that, as if it were a foul odor. Then I remember asking, “Why does it matter?”
“You knew my father long?” I asked in a scratchy, weary voice.
“We go back some.” he answered aloofly and shifted uneasily in his seat. I don’t ever remember meeting a human then. The captain was the closest thing I had ever come to seeing one in the flesh until the Alliance formed some years later. But I had heard about humans. Back then they sounded like they was nothing but hairy short apes with an appetite of destroying natural things to replace them with cheap artificial copies of them. So when I was sitting across the half-human, listening to him talk with actual formed words I was slightly both amazed and disgusted like seeing a freak show.
“I remember when yer father acquired his ship from his father. When Rowen said he was going to do some big modifications on an beautiful antique like that we all thought he was mad…” He sighed, “But then, yer father was always a practical man. In the end, I think he made the right choice. He would have gone broke trying to fish with the old girl like she was before he made it into a proper fishing vessel.”
I sat in silence staring at him. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to the half-human. What could I say? I wished he would have left, but then as I imagined him getting up and walked away I wanted to grab his wrist and sit him back down and have him tell me everything he remembered about my father.
As the waitress passed he ordered another drink for the both of us. He paid for mine.
“He believed those stories, you know. He was the one who told them to me. It seemed kinda odd. I never pegged him to be someone who believed in superstitions or gods or nothing. Or if he did, I didn’t think he woulda cared on what they think o’ him. But he did.”
“He told me you gotta kill a rabbit before you set sail, and hang him by the neck off the bow. Makes the sea serpents happy, the blood spills down in the water as you sail, makes them happy and leave you alone.” I said, easing some as the mead was set down in front of me.
“Yeah?” the captain said as he tipped his own back. “He told me that the Spirit Healer meets you at the gates of the Garden, the Garden a good sailor goes to when he moves on. He said she whispers all the secrets of life and death as you walk in.”
I shook my head.
“He never told me that.” I said sourly. I felt his round human eyes staring me down, appraising me. He paused and licked his dry lips before he continued.
“So what happened?” he asked.
I also paused and looked away. I took a strong hit off my booze to drink the sweet liquid courage.
“The sea was like gray coal glass when we set out. The sky was just a mirror of it. … Father was,” I paused rubbing my forehead as the memory of it played like film in my mind. “He was quiet the whole voyage and never said a word. I wonder if he knew? The first week out was like that. I felt like he was a walking ghost. The second week out it seemed like the sea was alive. We caught more fish then we ever did, but there was a funny smell to it. Like we was seeing so many fish because they were running away and we was just caught in the wake. Then, the third week, it came.

It happened slow, like a migraine. The wind picked up really bad, and Father stayed calm the whole time, jes yelling at me to tell me what to do. Then I heard rumbles out in the distance, like a god clearing his throat. The waves started to gurgle with irritation. One came down on us as if it was a turquoise building toppling down. It had to be forever high…”

I paused and felt like the whole room was listening to me and everyone had stopped to hold their breaths…

“I knew I was dead. When the sun come up, there was nothing but splinters of gray wood all over the place, lost pieces of a puzzle. And dad was gone. I was lucky I was found and scooped up a day or so later by a passing fisherman. He didn’t believe what happened, he said there was no storm. But there was, and the North Hare was gone. And so was--”

“The Garden.” he captain interjected, knowing I needn’t say more. “He was just gone to the Garden, and met by the Spirit Healer.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. I only imagined flowers the size of bears and my father drinking the nectar of a massive red blossom. A paradise, I thought. Just for sailors.